The Road Ahead
by smuffly
Summary: Part of the First Person Challenge set by Leslie Emm. "Map out your future - but do it in pencil. The road ahead is as long as you make it. Make it worth the trip." A curious journey into the past of our favourite M.E... Sid's story, in Sid's own words.


**THE ROAD AHEAD**

**Written for Leslie Emm's First Person Challenge. My character was Sid Hammerback; my prompt was a pencil and the mood was 'confused'. For a while, I was overwhelmed by the possibilities - until I found this quote and suddenly everything fell into place. I think that Sid, as a man of intelligence and imagination, would pride himself on spinning a quirky and eloquent story (just imagine him telling this one out loud), so I've tried to write it that way, instead of the sort of conversational piece that would suit a character like Danny or Flack. I hope you like it. I had fun trying something new.**

**All Lithuanian words are taken from Google Translate.**

**Disclaimer: Sid Hammerback may not be mine but, for a while, he let me use his voice.**

**-xx-**

_**"Map out your future - but do it in pencil. The road ahead is as long as you make it. Make it worth the trip." (Jon Bon Jovi)**_

You won't believe my tale, I'm sure. But it's the truth, I swear - and it begins with a silver cat...

I never knew her real name. To me she was always Desdemona. I was twelve when she found my secret hiding place in the basement of the empty house next door. For a stray cat, she was remarkably sleek and elegant. In contrast to her namesake, she was also faithless.

On velvet paws, she slunk around our neighbourhood, forming one-sided friendships with anyone who was kind enough - or gullible enough - to offer her a regular supply of milk and a superior class of tit-bits. Tuna fish cakes brought her running. Somehow, she always knew when they were on the menu. Corn-bread, she detested, as I found to my cost when her proud grey face disappeared for a fortnight. To win back her favour and keep it, I pilfered from my mother's food store on a regular basis. Motė railed against rats and mice in my father's hearing - but truthfully, I think she knew. We had that kind of silent friendship, my mother and I; two sensitive souls in a practical world.

Without my hiding place, and Desdemona's cool companionship, I believe that I would have turned out to be quite a different person. The basement was dark and damp, and full of strange noises - but it was also private, and that meant everything to me. I was a young man, eager to spread my wings and explore life. At home, there was only tradition. The old way was the right way and a child should be seen but not heard. A censoring ear paid strict attention to my youthful chatter and not one, but two pairs of stern eyes watched over me keenly - my father and my grandfather. Between them, they had my whole life mapped out ahead of me before I reached double figures, and I had no real say in the matter - or so they thought. By taking a tiny, abandoned hole-in-the-world and claiming it for my own, I managed to tear up their map, full of straight roads and safe destinations, and replace it with a wonderfully enticing piece of paper.

The trouble, of course, is that blank sheets of paper may indeed promise wonders but first and foremost, they have the power to freeze your mind and render you helpless. I didn't want to be a junior in the family business - that much I knew. But now the whole of life was at my fingertips; and what was my destiny? How could I know for certain?

What if I made a mistake?

With boyish creativity, I soon found what I thought was the perfect solution. Since I couldn't bring myself to choose, then Fate would do it for me. Fate - and Desdemona.

One Saturday afternoon in spring, when all my chores were done, I snuck into my father's study. That was a crime, of course, but I was feeling reckless. A shiver of excitement ran down my spine as I tiptoed across to his desk; an antique monstrosity almost as dull and immovable as he was. The top drawer was locked, as always, but I wasn't there to pry into his secrets. My need was simple; a few sheets of typing paper. I folded them over and over until they were small enough to fit into my pocket. Eight times was the charm. Next, I took an unassuming pencil from his silver pot. The first stage of my enterprising mission was now complete. I fled from the room, one eye on the well-worn cane that was propped up in the corner.

The kitchen was also deserted. This was the hour when Motė found herself trapped upstairs, reading Žemaitė's tales of Lithuanian village life to my bed-ridden grandmother. A trial for her, but a useful opportunity for me. I needed a lure for Desdemona and I knew that there was one fish cake left over from last night's meal. Senelė was tiny and her appetite was small. Her tray always came back down with half of her food still intact. As I saw it, her loss was Desdemona's gain - and not really stealing. Not to a twelve year old boy with feline bribery on his mind.

Motė's pantry was a walk-cupboard, stacked high with tinned goods, preserves and beautiful home-baking. This small piece of heaven was my favourite room in the house. Sometimes, I would slip in here just to close my eyes and breathe in the scent - which was always familiar and yet, somehow, always different. It fired my imagination. I wasn't allowed to help my mother in the kitchen - that was my sister's role. Yet she would have been much happier raking the front path or pulling up weeds, while her fanciful brother longed to unravel the mysteries of how to turn fruit into jam, or separate an egg. Like I said - we were an old-fashioned family. The sixties were passing us by, and I was determined to hop on board.

Senelė's fish cake was on the bottom shelf, in a covered dish next to a plateful of melt-in-the-mouth cookies. Hard for this boy to resist. I took the fishy treat for Desdemona and a cookie for myself, then fled from the kitchen, pursued by a sudden image of Motė's disappointed face.

Squeezing through a gap in the worn fence, I soon shook off my guilt by disposing of the evidence. As I brushed the tell-tale crumbs from my shirt, I heard the rattle of boards that signalled _her_ arrival. She popped up beside me and rubbed her soft head against my leg in greedy anticipation.

"How do you do that?" I asked, breaking off a piece of the fish cake and dropping it into her waiting mouth. She swallowed it down at once, with an air of deep satisfaction, and ran her tongue across her needle-sharp teeth.

_More,_ her blue eyes demanded. A royal decree, not a question.

"Follow me, then." Together, boy and cat, we wound our way through the jungle of weeds. Desdemona left no trace when she walked. I tried to copy her sinuous style, but I was far too clumsy in my buckle shoes that jingled with every step. The noise made her left ear twitch and she shot me a look of disdain for my useless human ways.

"You should try having to wear 'em," I muttered, defending my wounded pride. "I'd swap my soul for a pair of sneakers."

Desdemona tilted her head.

"Not really!" I added hastily - well, you never know, do you? The devil was always lurking in disguise, according to Senelė. Was it so far-fetched to think that he could be a silver cat if he wanted to? "I'm just jealous, that's all. I want to be cool like the other kids."

_Do you think I care?_ said Desdemona's haughty expression.

"Forget it." Lifting up the trapdoor that led to our hiding place, I let her pass before me into the darkness. It was her right, as queen of our relationship.

In the centre of the basement, away from the damp walls and the falling plaster, I kept an old rug, some candles and a crate filled with treasures. Things that I didn't want my father, or even my mother - _especially_ my sensitive mother - to see. Things like - well, judge me if you wish, but remember that I was a twelve year old boy at the time - a collection of wild novels, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein being the most well-thumbed, followed by the Arabian Nights (unabridged). The skeleton of a rat, picked clean by other rats and studied carefully by me. A text book on the human body. A tin of humbugs. (Food was always uppermost in my mind, as a growing boy.) These and other treasures formed the basis of my self-exploration and I wouldn't have parted with them for the world. Sad, but true. No doubt, if you look back, you'll find a similar collection in the dark recesses of your past. You may still have it. I still have the rat.

With Desdemona twisting round my ankles, I made my way over to the rug and lit the smallest candle, which was welded to a plate by strands of its own disintegrating body. In the glow from the tiny flame, I began to lift my treasures out of the crate. Once it was empty, I turned to Desdemona. "You won't like this," I said, "but I'm going to do it anyway." Tossing the rest of the fish cake into the empty box, I made a grab for her and, ignoring her yowls and her flailing claws, I dropped her in after it. True to her nature, she landed on her feet. The baleful look she gave me was quite upsetting. She could have leapt straight out again but cats are opportunists and there was food to be eaten so, instead, she stayed put and snacked on the fish cake as she waited for me to recover my senses.

Sitting down on the rug, I wiped my sticky fingers with the end of my shirt. Then I pulled out the pencil and my stolen wad of paper.

Time for some thinking.

My plan was simple, but a little crazy. I think it was the crazy part that appealed to me.

Tearing the paper into small squares, I piled them up on my lap and started to write - a dream for the future on each one. Now and then, I sucked my pencil thoughtfully, searching for inspiration. Musician. Movie star. Astronaut. Spy. Inventor...

When the squares were filled, I took each one and scrunched it into a ball before tossing it randomly out from the rug. Before long, I was surrounded. A host of possible futures, and all I had to do was pick one. Well, not me, exactly...

"Your turn," I said to Desdemona.

She was in a lazy mood by now, and hunkered down inside the box, reluctant to move - but I picked her up anyway. Four long legs dangled down beneath her as she sailed through the air with a comical lack of dignity.

Not the best start to my experiment. Landing on the rug, she dug in her claws and glared at me, hissing to show her displeasure. And I was all out of fish cakes.

"Look," I said, gesturing with my pencil. "It's a game, okay? You can play with them." Whichever one she chose to play with first would be my future. Simple, really; kind of like a feline Magic-8 ball. Cats loved toys, right? But instead of looking where the pencil pointed, Desdemona followed its movement, twisting her head. I sniggered.

"You should see yourself," I told her, tucking the pencil behind my back.

Desdemona blinked and settled down to clean her paws.

"No, no, no! Don't do _that_, you stupid cat. You ate my grandmother's fish cake; now I need your help. We had a deal. Okay, I had the deal, but you had the fish cake..." All that effort gone to waste. I stood up and stalked away from the cat, disgusted. As a final gesture of frustration, I hurled the pencil back in her direction. She leapt to her feet with a yowl.

"Well, I guess that means I should strike 'animal trainer' off the list'," I grumbled.

Across the room, we stared at each other. All at once, Desdemona stepped off the rug. On delicate paws, she wound a pathway in and out of the crumpled balls of paper; never touching one or even giving it a second glance. When she had made a complete circle of the room, she returned to the rug - and sat down on my pile of treasures, curling her tail beneath her as she balanced on the Atlas of the Human Body.

_You like games,_ her steady gaze seemed to say. _Here's a riddle for you. Take a good look - you'll get it in the end._

"Stupid cat," I muttered once more, as I snuffed the candle, climbed out of the basement and headed home, even more confused than ever about the road ahead.

Looking back now, through the long years, I see it - and I wonder...

But I'm sure you don't believe me, do you?


End file.
